Friday the Loudteenth
by Flagg1991
Summary: After escaping from a government transport plane en route to a top secret research facility, Jason Voorhees lays waste to the Loud family. Cover by Raganoxer.
1. Mayday

SOMEWHERE OVER MICHIGAN, 22:00 HOURS.

James McNeil leaned back from the control panel and sighed. His co-pilot, Martha Franks, glanced at him. "Long day, huh?" she asked.

McNeil nodded, rubbing his grainy eyes. "First day back always is."

McNeil had been on a weeks' leave in Alexandria. For seven glorious days, he was a civie and not an Air Force pilot. He stayed up as late as he wanted to, slept as late and he wanted to, and drank as much as he wanted to. No 05:00 days in sight.

Then, as always, the last day of leave crept up on him and sacked him in the nuts. He was ordered to board a train for New Jersey and be at Grogan AFB at noon sharp for an important assignment. He didn't know what that assignment was until the base commander met with him. Even after, he didn't know much, only that he was to fly a T-1X9 airbus to the Western Montana Research Center, an underground (and highly top secret) facility where, it was rumored, UFOs were studied and stored. McNeil didn't believe in that crap; it was probably where govie science geeks cooked weaponized anthrax, plague, and SuperFlu. Nowhere near as glamourous as flying saucers.

One thing bothered him: On the inventory sheet, one of the items was listed as: SUBJECT K-245-10, VOORHEES. What the hell was _that_? If it was a "subject," it had to be alive, right? If he wasn't scared of being court martialed, he'd go back and try to have a look. Sure, the Marine guards would shoo him away, but he was sure they could work something out: They were brothers-in-arms, after all.

"Just keep your eyes open and on the sky," Martha said.

"Yeah, I..." McNeil stopped as the rattle of gunfire filled the cabin. Martha's black face went milk white.

A moment later, someone screamed, and a loud thud sounded, followed by more gunfire. McNeil, his heart pounding, got out of his seat and drew his sidearm.

Martha shook her head, and started radioing for help. "Make sure that door's locked!" she shouted.

At the door, McNeil tried the handle. It was locked. Next, he drove the deadbolt home and stepped slightly back. Following 9/11, the government had outfitted the cockpit doors of all its transport planes with reinforced alloy conceived in a government lab somewhere and known only to Uncle Sam, Mossad, and probably, now, Russia. A man could stand on the other side of that door and lob rocket propelled gernades at it until the cows came home, and he wouldn't even put a dent in it.

Another scream rose, and another burst of gunfire. McNeil winced. Though the fuselage was as tough as the door, there was no guarantee that a window wouldn't shatter or a hole wouldn't form. Within seconds, the plane would break up and go down.

For the first time in years, James McNeil was actually scared.

Following another burst of gunfire, silence reigned. For a moment, nothing. Then a serious of loud thuds shook the plane. It sounded like God Himself was running toward the cockpit. Behind him, Martha screamed into the microphone to ground control, panic evident in her voice.

Shuddering, McNeil drew a deep breath, and suddenly the door exploded open. A massive man in the gray, tattered remains of a jumpsuit stood before him. He was bald, his skin a sickly blue-green, and wore a singed, shattered hockey mask. McNeil screamed and fired. The giant took no notice. Instead, coldly, dispassionately, he raised a long, wicked machete and brought it down. McNeil felt the blade cleave his skull, felt it sink into his soft, pulpy brain matter. Martha screamed, and McNeil fell.

The last thing he saw before dying was the giant, the monster, grabbing Martha by the back of her jacket and flinging her headfirst through the window. Then, feeling the wind rushing into the cockpit and the plane lurching into a nosedive, James McNeil went on leave.

Permanently.


	2. Impact

Lincoln Loud loved summer break. He loved having free and open days ahead of him. He loved riding bikes and going to the beach and not having to worry about school. He loved staying up late and sleeping in.

There was one major downside, though: His sleep routine. During the school year, Lincoln was in bed by nine and asleep by ten or ten-thirty at the latest. During summer break, he'd stay up later, then later still, then later still, until he was up until three in the morning and asleep until nine, whereupon he'd rise, have breakfast, that wander off to nap for a while before finding something to do. Sometimes it felt like his entire day was a bust because he was either asleep or tired.

Tonight, Lincoln was sitting by his open window, reveling in the cool night air, while he read a comic book. He didn't know what time it was, but his internal clock told him he wouldn't be ready for bed for hours yet. Even though he knew he'd suffer tomorrow, for now, he was at peace. The others were either asleep or turning in, the noise level was to a minimum, and there was nothing to bother him.

Just as he turned the page, a loud roar filled the night, startling him. He looked up just in time to see a massive shadow in the shape of an airplane bank left and disappear behind a stand of trees separating his backyard from the panhandle of Washington Park, a massive wetland preserve. Seconds later, a ball of fire erupted in the night. The world shook and windows rattled (some, though he couldn't say where, even broke). The force of the impact knocked him off his perch and onto the floor. Lincoln's heart leapt into his throat, and he covered his head with his arms.

When it was over, silence crashed down around him, so loud it hurt his ears. He struggled to his feet and stuck his head out the window. Flames reached high into the heavens. Thick black smoke rolled ever up.

Oh, wow! This was crazy!

He rushed out into the hall just as the others were emerging from their rooms. "What was that?" Luna asked.

"A plane crashed!"

"A plane crashed?" Luan blinked.

"Yeah!"

Lincoln threw himself down the stairs and rushed to the back door. On the porch, smoke hung thick in the air. Fire raged through the trees, a big, crackling wall of bright heat. Some of the neighbors were coming out of their houses, gasping and talking excitedly. Someone screamed, and someone else yelled, "Call 911!"

"Holy shit," Luna said, startling Lincoln. All of his sisters clustered around him. Soon, mom and dad appeared.

"Oh, my God!" mom gasped.

"A plane crashed," Lynn said, fighting for position, craning her neck like a common rubbernecker.

"It had to be a big one," Lana marveled. "At least a 747."

The shrill cry of sirens approached.

"Let's go back inside," dad said cautiously.

"Come on, dad," Lincoln said. "I wanna see."

"Inside. Now."

His tone was firm. He meant business.

Defeated, the Loud children filed into the kitchen while mom worriedly made a pot of coffee. Emergency lights flashed across the ground. People, some of them in heavy firefighter suits, trampled through the yard, trailing thick yellow hoses behind them.

"That fire's really close," mom said. "We might to have to evacuate."

"Maybe," dad said. He sat at the table and pulled on a pair of tennis shoes. "I was just going out to ask that very question.

"Can I come with you?" Lincoln asked.

"No. Stay here."

While dad went out into the chaos, Lincoln and his sisters watched through the kitchen windows. Cops and firefighters rushed back and forth now. Groups of firemen sprayed jets of water along the edge of the forest, to prevent the fire from spreading, Lisa said. Craning his neck, Lincoln spotted dad talking to a man in a fire helmet. The man was gesturing wildly. After a few moments, dad came back in.

"We're okay for now," he said, "but the fire chief said the flames could spread at any minute, so we have to be ready to leave in a hurry. Kids, get dressed and gather the pets. Honey, get the photo albums and important papers from the safe. Everyone pack an overnight bag. Just in case. I want shoes on."

While Lori and Lana gathered the pets, Lincoln went to his room, put his shoes on, and threw a couple days' worth of clothes into his school backpack. He paused several times to watch the emergency workers: A fire engine, its becons flashing, pulled into the sliver of yard between the Loud house and Mr. Johnson's house. A team of firemen unloaded and joined the fray. The fire didn't look like it had spread, but it didn't look contained either: It hungrily consumed innocent trees, several of which toppled over as Lincoln watched in wonderment. One almost came down on a bunch of firemen. This was insane.

"Mom and dad want us in the living room," Leni said, poking her head in the door. "Just in case."

"Yeah, I'll be there," Lincoln said without turning: He watched as another tree fell; firemen screamed and danced out of its way.

"Now!" Lori said sharply.

"Okay, okay!"

Lincoln grabbed his bag and went down to the living room, where everyone else had gathered on the couch. It may have been a typical movie night at the Loud abode, had everyone not been so tense, ready to spring up and out the door at a moment's notice. Lola griped about not being able to pack all of her trophies while Lisa worried that she might lose "years of research." Luna clutched her guitar the way a child would a favorite doll, and Luan tried to lighten the mood with her dummy, but it didn't work. For the first time the gravity of the situation hit Lincoln. In all the excitement he'd forgotten two things: One, he might lose his home, and two: He was watching at the exact moment a bunch of people died. People who were loved and had families like his. He looked around the room, and imagined it was his sisters on that plane. The thought disturbed him, and he shuddered.

An hour later, the fire chief knocked on the back door. The fire was contained and there would be no evacuation order. In his own room, Lincoln turned the lights off and tried to sleep, but he was still shaken, and the noise of the first responders kept him awake. He replayed the scene of the plane crashing over and over in his mind, and wished that he had been looking in the other direction when it happened.

Lincoln Loud slept very little that night, and when he did, he dreamed of planes, death, and his family.


	3. Rage

Jason hit the ground a full three minutes before the plane. He felt nothing on impact...nothing save for the same cold, numb rage. Kill. He had to kill. He wouldn't be at peace until the rage was spent.

He knew somewhere in the back of his dead mind, though, that the rage would never be spent. It was always there. Driving him. It drove him from death and back to life countless times before, and, he suspected, it always would.

When the plane struck the ground and erupted, he cocked his head and watched. The way the flames mushroomed into the night sky was beautiful. It spoke to him. He was the fire. The never-ending, inextinguishable fire. He started toward the flames, trampling roses in a flower bed and walking through a wooden stockade fence. He stopped when, ahead, a door flew open and a little boy with white hair appeared. Moments later, a gang of girls joined him, their faces twisted into makes of horror, worry, and dark wonder.

Jason hated them.

He hated their youth and their innocence, he hated their vitality, he hated their faces and the noises they made. He hated them because he knew they hated him. Everyone did. Everyone pointed and laughed and hurt him. Everyone was cruel to him. He began to tremble at the force of his hatred. He started toward them, but stopped. Not now. He knew vaguely that he had to hide before they came looking for him, the men who hunted him down in his forest and took him like an animal, the men in green suits and hard hats. The soldiers.

Jason looked around. He saw a hatchway leading into the basement of the house where the kids currently huddled. Perfect. He would go in there, hide, and when he was sure he was safe, he would give in to his anger and kill them all. He would split their heads, wring their necks, pull their guts out and squish them in his big, skeletal hands. He would start and not stop until he was happy and the rage went away.

Moving slowly, deliberately, Jason went around to the side of the house and tried the hatch. It was locked from the inside. Flashing, he grabbed the handle and ripped it open with a metal shriek: One of the hinges popped and a screw shot into his leg like a bullet. He stepped over the lip, descended several stairs, and then pulled the door closed behind him.

It was dark in the basement, but Jason could see. He shuffled aimlessly around, taking in his surroundings. Boxes were stacked here and there. In the corner, a hot water heater. He walked to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. A crack of light shone under the door. He heard voices and footsteps. The noises made him mad. He gripped the handle of the machete tight.

Not now. Not now.

He went over to the hot water heater. There was enough of a gap between it and the wall to fit him. No one coming into the basement would be able to see him unless they turned a corner and peered into the space. Hunching down, he wedged himself between the heater and the wall, and waited.

 _Kill them all,_ the voice of his long dead mother said, _kill them all, kill them all, kill them all, kill them all..._


	4. Morning

Lincoln Loud woke from a nightmare he couldn't remember just as the first fiery light of dawn touched the eastern sky. His head throbbed and his eyes ached. He rolled onto his side and tried to drift off, but images from his dream came back to him: Luna's face melting like candlewax, Lola's hair burning, his mother and father lying on the ground, blood gushing from their mouths and noses. He squeezed his eyes closed so tightly that he saw bursts and whorls of color.

They were on a plane, he remembered, and something was wrong. There was fire and smoke in the aisles, and the sound of screaming and sobbing surrounded him. He remembered his heart slamming against his ribcage. He remembered trying to find his sisters in a dense cloud of smoke, but he couldn't: He fumbled and stumbled around, until he walked through a door and fell. The last thing he saw before he woke was the ground rushing up to meet him.

 _I'm up,_ he told his hateful brain. He swung his feet out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed for a minute. His mouth was dry and the side of his face was crusted with drool.

Scratching the back of his neck, he got up and went to the bathroom. He laid his hand on the knob but stopped: From inside, the shower hissed.

When you have ten sisters, there is a clearly defined morning schedule. Lori, who was always up the earliest, was first, and she stepped into the shower at 6:00am during the school year, and 7:00am during the summer. Lincoln didn't know what time it was exactly, but he knew it was much, much earlier than seven.

He knocked. "Hello?"

"Yeah?" It was Leni. Hm. She usually slept late.

"I have to use the bathroom."

"Okay. Come in."

Holding a hand up to block his view of the shower curtain, Lincoln went into the bathroom and lifted the toilet lid.

"You're up early," she said.

He peed. "Yeah. I couldn't sleep. What are you doing up?"

"I have a date tonight," she chirped.

"A date?" Lincoln searched his brain, but couldn't remember anyone mentioning Leni having a date.

"Yeah, with the _cutest_ guy," Leni said. "I met him at the mall the other day."

That's nice. "Why are you taking a shower now then?"

"Well, duh, everyone knows that the earlier you shower, the cleaner you'll be."

Lincoln opened his mouth to reply that that's not how it worked (at least to his understanding), but stopped. Leni was...well, Leni. She wasn't exactly the brightest blub in the shed. Then again, when you got right down to it, neither was he.

"Well...good luck."

"Thanks, Lincy!"

The hall was still empty. No one else was awake. Lincoln went quietly back to his room, shut the door, and stretched out on top of the bed. He figured he'd hop in the shower when Leni was done. He started to feel drowsy, though, and dropped off, coming awake sometime later to the sound of slamming doors. The sun had fully risen, and he could hear taking and footsteps in the hall. He slipped out of bed, and stopped when he saw movement outside the window. A black car was parked in the yard. Two men in military uniforms talked to a police officer. That was strange. Why was the military here?

Unless the plane was military.

Lincoln's heart skipped a beat. He wondered if it was carrying anything dangerous. In a movie he saw once, a military plane crashed and released some kind of virus that turned people into zombies.

That was just a movie, though, right?

Lincoln turned his head to hear their conversation better, but caught only snippets.

"...not here..."

"...found ASAP."

The cop finally nodded, and the men turned, one of them looking up and locking eyes with Lincoln. Lincoln's heart sputtered. The man was tall and broad with deep set eyes, iron gray hair, and skin like cracked leather. He looked mean. Real mean.

Lincoln slunk away from the window and waited a long time for them to leave.

-2-

General William Howell sat in the back of the government sedan, a file forgotten in his lap. He gazed out the window as the driver navigated away from the crash site. He drummed his fingers unthinkingly on his knee. It was a habit left over from his youth. The Military could drill a lot of things into (and out of) you, but some things could withstand anything.

Next to him, Frederick Teal, Commander of The Shop, a secret government research apparatus, stared straight ahead, his arms crossed over his broad chest and his deep-set eyes boring into the passenger seat head rest. Teal was probably the only person in the world who scared Howell. Howell didn't know if there was an Illuminati or a shadow government or anything like that, but he knew there were organizations and individuals who existed outside the law. Teal was one of them. He had been in charge of The Shop since 2001, and while Howell couldn't testify to anything, he'd heard a lot of talk about what went on there. Human experiments, mainly, things having to do with psychic research, parapsychology, and extraterrestrials. Teal answered only to the President, and each one, from Bush to Obama to Trump, gave him free reign.

Not only did Teal wield endless power, but he was also quick to anger. Howell had known many men like Teal. They were short-tempered, extremely focused, and didn't mind breaking a few eggs along the way. He believed the clinical name was "sociopath."

Chewing his lower lip, Teal said, "It's been over eight hours since the crash. Voorhees could be anywhere. If I had to guess, I'd say he's in the woods." He turned to Howell. "I'm calling in a group of my boys. You call in some of yours. I want the roads in and out of this town closely watched, and I want men in the woods."

Howell nodded. He picked up the file and opened it. Inside was a top secret memo relating to Jason Voorhees, the Crystal Lake Slasher. When he first read it, he was sure it was a hoax. Unkillable? Undead? Virtually unstoppable? Voorhees wasn't a man, he was a fucking Predator. But Teal said it was all true, and Howell knew Teal wasn't a man who played games.

The Shop had been in possession of Jason Voorhees for five years. Seal Team 6 (the same elite group that took down Bin Laden) cornered him in a remote section of the forest surrounding Crystal Lake and took him, losing three men in the process. He was subdued with a massive amount of drugs (enough to kill fifty elephants, the file said) and cryogenically frozen for "future research." He got lost in the mix until last fall, when war with China and North Korea seemed inevitable. Someone somewhere (Mad Dog? Bannon? Trump himself?) decided they wanted super soldiers. Teal heard, and had just the subject...

Only somehow Voorhees woke up en route to Montana, and took out ten guards and a flight crew of twelve. There should have 23 bodies on that plane. So far they found 22. There was a chance that Voorhees was still back there, blasted to bone and ash, but having read the file front to back twice, he knew it was unlikely. The son of a bitch got away and now he was wandering around a populated area, a danger to every man, woman, and child in a hundred miles radius. At Crystal Lake, he was a danger only to those who ventured onto his hunting grounds. But out here, away from home, God only knew what he was capable of.

"I'd close the whole damn town if I could get away with it," Teal said. "But with the media how it is, the whole world would know everything in half an hour."

"Yeah," Howell said. "We'd be fucked."

"If we don't have him in twenty-four hours, I'll bring in more men. And the militia. And the state police if I have to."

"Should we bring in anyone...else?"

"Seal Team 5, Seal Team 9, and Seal Team 12. Hell, bring in Seal Team 7 too. We need this over as soon as possible. And preferably without a lot of dead bodies piling up."

"Anything else?"

Teal sighed. "No. Just men. Lots and lots of men. I know he's in these woods. He came from woods, that's where he'll go."

Howell made a few calls. Within an hour, nearly a hundred elite soldiers were en route to Michigan.


	5. Sunglasses

_Omg. This is so not good_.

Leni Loud wandered from her room and went to the top of the stairs, her hands creeping to her hips. She looked around, but didn't see her missing sunglasses. She took a deep breath. Her date was in six hours. If she didn't find her sunglasses soon, she couldn't go. They were, like, a part of her look. That cute guy probably wouldn't even recognize her. Gasp, what if he did but he thought she was ugly without her glasses?

This wouldn't do. She needed to find them. Or get a new pair.

Why did this always happen to her? Why was she such a ditz? Why couldn't she be super smart like Lisa? Or at least not a total blonde like...herself.

This was frustrating. Where were her sunglasses?

She went into the bathroom, but they weren't there. She went back into her room, they still weren't there. Lori was off with Bobby somewhere, so it's not like she could ask her.

Maybe she left them downstairs.

She went down the stairs and searched the living room first. Then she checked the kitchen. No luck. Why was it so quiet in here?

She went to the back door and looked out. Lana and Lola were having a tea party, Lynn and Lincoln were tossing a football back and forth, even Lucy was out, dividing her time between reading a book and glancing at the scorched forest, where men in white jumpsuits shifted through the debris while soldiers in camo watched over them with rifles. She went to open the door so she could ask if anyone had seen her sunglasses, but an idea struck her.

Maybe they were in the basement.

She crossed the kitchen, opened the basement door, and flicked the light on: Muted glow filled the room. She stood where she was for a moment, fighting back a small rise of fear. From the time she was a little girl, Leni had been scared of the basement. It was so...creepy. She was a young lady know, however, and she knew things like ghosts weren't real. It was just a creepy basement. That's all.

Taking a deep breath, she went down the stairs one at a time, trailing her band on the bannister. At the bottom, she poked her head around the partition and swept the room with her gaze. She didn't _see_ her sunglasses, but maybe they were here anyway. She walked along a row of shelves that ended near the hatchway. On the other side was the water heater.

She rounded the bank of shelves and walked right into a cob web. Uttering a small scream, she ducked her head and wiped at her face. Something dropped to the floor.

She opened her eyes.

Her glasses were staring up at her. They were on her head the whole time.

Leni couldn't help but smile. She should have known.

She bent down to get them, but before she could reach them, a big, muddy boot stepped on them, crunching them underfoot. Her heart sputtered to a stop and her blood turned to ice water. For a moment, she was frozen.

Then she looked up.

The man before her was as tall as a building, and at least as thick. His head was bent. He was wearing some kind of mask. Even though the overhead light shone in her eyes and she couldn't see very well, she could feel his eyes creeping over her skin.

"I...I was just looking for my sunglasses," she said dumbly.

Like lightning, the man's arm shot out, and he grabbed her by the hair. She screamed as he dragged her up. She was standing, now her feet weren't touching the floor. She lashed out with her fists, but missed.

"Let me go!" she screamed, kicking.

The man held her well off the floor and looked up at her. Looking into his dark, lifeless eyes, Leni knew she was going to die.

She began to cry.

"Please don't...don't hurt me."

The man touched the side of her head then, and for a moment she allowed herself to hope that he was having a change of heart.

Then he started pressing her skull between his hands.

She cried out and kicked her feet as she felt her brain beginning to compress. She opened her mouth to plead one final time, but the man pressed harder, and her head exploded: Her eyes popped out of their sockets, blood and chunky brains spilled from her ears and shot from her nose, jagged shards of shattered skull pierced her brain.

The last thing to go through her head (other than a set of power hands) was:

 _They were on your head the whole time..._


	6. Distrust

Lincoln missed the toss, the ball hitting the ground and bouncing away.

"Come on, Linc," Lynn said, "get your head in the game."

"Yeah, sorry," Lincoln said, but he wasn't paying attention: A group of soldiers appeared in the clearing caused by light night's fire. They were all carrying rifles.

Lynn followed his gaze. "Huh," she said. "That's weird. Why all the soldiers?"

"I think it was an army plane," Lincoln said. He started voice his theory that something dangerous or top secret had been onboard, but stopped. He didn't know, and it wouldn't do to blab and cause everyone to panic unnecessarily.

"Why do they all have guns?"

"I don't know."

The two men Lincoln had seen earlier appeared in the middle of the crowd. The man with the deep-set eyes looked directly at him, and Lincoln looked away. "I'm kind of thirsty," he said, and it wasn't a lie. "Do you want anything?"

"Nah, I'm good."

In the kitchen, Lincoln grabbed a juice box from the fridge and started toward the back door when he noticed the basement door was open. He went over to it, poked his head in (seeing that the light was on as well) and called out, "Hello? Anyone down there?"

No one replied.

He snapped the light off and waited for someone to yell, but no one did, so he closed the door behind him and went back outside just as the soldiers started fanning out, a group going east along the tree line, a group going west, and several groups pushing deeper into the forest.

"I don't know," Lynn said when Lincoln walked up, "this is fishy."

"Yeah," Lincoln said, then, deciding it was okay to talk to Lynn, added: "I wonder if there was something on that plane. Like...like something important."

Lynn glanced at him. "Like what?"

Lincoln shrugged. "Maybe...I don't know."

Lynn looked back at the forest. The man with the deep-set eyes was watching them. Lynn shivered. "That guy's creepy."

"Yeah. Let's go inside."

-2-

Teal studied the boy and the girl. The boy, he noted, was the same one who'd been spying on them earlier. The buck teeth were the same, so was the white hair.

"Who lives in that house?" Teal asked.

"The Loud family," Howell replied after consulting a scrap of paper.

"How many are there?"

"Thirteen."

Teal blinked. "Thirteen?"

"Yes. Sir."

Teal turned back and watched the boy and the girl going back into the house with their younger sisters in tow. The smaller ones were protesting. They didn't _want_ to go inside.

"I don't like the looks of them," Teal finally said. "Especially that boy. He's too goddamn nosy."

"What about the old man in the house next door? He's been peeking through his curtains for twenty minutes now. And that guy on the other side...he's looking at us more than at the plants he's watering. We're not exactly working in the shadows here."

Teal nodded. Howell was right, of course (though Teal hated admitting that fact). Whenever anything out of the ordinary happened, the average American was right there with their face pressed against the glass. Then they were on the phone to their mother, and their brother, and Mable from down the street. Life on Main Street U.S.A. was dull as dishwater, so the moment anything different happened, they crowded round to see.

Even so, he didn't like that Loud boy. He liked the sister, though. She was cute.


	7. Jason Kills a Kid

Jason Voorhees stuffed the dead girl the furnace and closed the door. Standing back, he couldn't see her through the slats, which meant that no one else could either.

At the window, he peered out, and saw a girl throw a football. Beyond her, in the blacked wood, he saw soldiers.

They were looking for him.

He knew that he should go back into his hidey-hole and wait, but after killing the girl, he wanted more. He was like a shark: Once he tasted human blood, it was only a matter of time before he'd lose control and feast.

For a moment he was torn, then he deicded that he wanted more, so he went up the stairs. He eased open the basement door and looked around: The sun-washed kitchen was empty. He listened, and heard only what sounded like music from afar.

Gripping his machete tight, Jason slipped into the kitchen, leaving the basement door open behind him. He went into the living room and paused at the many framed pictures covering the walls and the end tables. A girl with a soccer ball, a girl with a dummy, pictures, pictures, a thousand smiling pictures watching him, mocking him. He raised his machete to smash them all, but didn't. If he did, they would know he was here.

At the bottom of the stairs, he looked up and listened. He definitely heard music now. Someone was strumming a guitar.

Jason _hated_ the guitar.

He climbed the stairs, trailing the blade of the machete along the bannister. At the top, he paused, cocked his head, and listened. It was coming from a room just down the hall. The door was partly open.

Jason went to the door and peeked in. A girl with short brown hair was sitting on her bed, playing a purple guitar, her eyes closed. Another girl, this one was braces, was sitting on the other bed, hunched over a laptop. Jason started to enter, but heard voices, then footsteps on the stairs.

Moving quickly, he ducked into an empty room and shut the door.

"We've been playing fruity fairy princess tea party for, like, an hour," one of the girls whined. "I wanna play Tonka trucks now."

"Tonka trucks are stupid," another said in a haughty tone that made Jason's grip tighten on the handle of his machete.

"Nuh-uh! Princess stuff is stupid!"

"Fine. We'll play Tonka trucks."

"Alright! I just have to take a dump real quick."

"Of course you do."

Jason opened the door a crack and peered out. A girl in overalls and a red baseball cap passed by and disappeared into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. He looked in the other direction, and saw another girl in a pink dress go into a room. He was about to step out into the hall when a girl in a red and white jersey and a boy with white hair appeared. Shuddering with rage, Jason stepped away from the door.

"I don't know," the girl said. "It looks like they're looking for something."

"I know," the boy replied, "but for what?"

"Who knows?"

A moment later, Jason heard a door shut, followed by another. He looked out into the hall.

It was empty.

Opening the door, he stepped out and paused. Who should he kill?

-2-

Lana Loud undid her overalls and plopped down on the toilet. Her stomach gurgled, but when she pushed, nothing came out. Great. She was constipated again. She sighed. It happened, especially when you ate some of the things she did. Like grass. And dog food. She knew it wasn't good for her, but boy was it good! Thinking about the dry kibble in the downstairs pantry, her mouth began to water.

She pushed again. Nothing. She briefly considered getting up and cutting her loses, but her stomach really hurt, and the last thing she wanted to do was have to interrupt her Tonka time to poo. She took a deep breath and pushed again.

She farted.

Some of the pressure in her stomach released. Maybe she was just gassy.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed again, and that's when the doorknob rattled.

"I'm in here!"

It felt like things were moving around in her stomach. She pushed again.

The doorknob rattled.

"Didn't you hear me? I said I'm in here!"

There it came. It was just about...

The doorknob rattled again. Damn it, Lola.

Sighing, Lana leaned forward and unlocked the door. "Fine, come in then."

The door swung open, and Lana's eyes widened. It wasn't Lola. It was a monster, a giant, hulking, rotting monster with decomposing skin.

Lana opened her mouth to scream, but before she could, the monster grabbed her by her neck and rammed her head into the tile wall. Red agony filled the world. The monster slammed her head again, and she felt blood burst forth from her nose. One more time, and she felt the side of her head cave in. She let out a long, whimpering sigh.

 _Now I'll never get to play Tonka trucks,_ was her final thought.


	8. Roses

Rita Loud wasn't happy with the soldiers patrolling the forest behind her house. First, their very presence uneased her. She had spoken to the man with the deep-set eyes, and what he told her was this: The plane that crashed was military, and was carrying a lot of sensitive equipment, equipment that was so important to "national security" that not even a single piece could remain on the ground. The soldiers were simply helping to recover debris. That line might work on someone stupid, but she knew damn well that that wasn't the case, at least not entirely. If it was, why were they armed? They didn't look like a clean-up crew, they looked like a battle squad. Rita was a lifelong liberal, and had learned early on that the military-industrial complex was not to be trusted. They were always up to something. She remembered the SuperFlu outbreak of 1994, when a government engineered virus escaped from a lab and killed over a hundred people in a small East Texas town. She remembered news footage of the dead and dying, remembered soldiers cracking down on the media, remembered the outcry and the eventual congressional hearings. That terrible summer was when she learned that you could not trust your government.

Second, not only did they trample her rose garden, they also smashed the fence between hers and Mr. Johnson's yard: There was a big, gaping hole in it. When her and Lynn Sr. came out to work in the yard that morning, she noticed it instantly, her heart dropping. "My flowers!"

She knelt in the soft earth next to them and tried to salvage at least one, but it was no use. They were ground into the soil as though an entire unit had goosestepped all over them. That's when she got mad. She stood, went over to the treeline, and called to the man with the deep-set eyes. He was wearing an officer's uniform and watching a group of men beat through the brush.

"Excuse me!"

The man turned to her, and Rita took an involuntary step back. His face was hard and lined, his eyes dark and cold.

"Yes, ma'am?"

Rita took a deep breath. She refused to be intimidated. She was an American citizen, after all. She paid her taxes. "Your men destroyed my roses."

He came over. "Your roses, ma'am?"

"Yes," Rita said, "my roses. And they broke the fence. See?" She pointed.

The man's gaze followed her arm. "I doubt that was my men, ma'am. They have strict orders not to set foot on private property without permission."

"Whose?"

"Mine."

He told her about the "sensitive equipment" onboard the plane. She made a show of listening, and nodded. Really, she was seething. Who did he think he was? She was the only one who could give permission for someone to set foot on her property.

"Fascist," she muttered as she went back to the roses.

That was when Lynn Sr. walked up. "Have you seen the basement door?"

"No," she said, then turned, suddenly interested. "Why?"

He led her to the hatch. It looked as though it had been ripped off with a wench. The metal was bent and twisted, one of the hinges hanging loose.

"Jesus," she said, and glanced toward the soldiers, suddenly very cold. "Do you think...they did it?"

"I don't know," Lynn Sr. replied. "It had to be. This wasn't the work of some kid looking to steal Christmas decorations and old bikes."

Lynn Sr. opened the door.

There were muddy footprints on the stairs.

"Someone was in here."

Lynn Sr. went down the stairs and looked around. After a while, he came back. "I don't see anyone, and the prints stop at the stairs."

Rita sighed and looked at the man with the deep-set eyes. He was watching her.

"I _know_ they did this," she said. "Who do we call to complain? The Department of Defense?"

"Everybody," Lynn Sr. said. "We'll call everybody. This is outrageous."

And it was.


	9. Sex

Jason put the little girl's body in the shower and closed the curtain. He went to leave the bathroom, but stopped. The wall was splattered with blood. He couldn't leave it.

Ripping off a strip of cloth that had been hanging from his arm, he cleaned up most of the blood, then threw it into a trash can. He opened the bathroom door and peeked out. The hallway was empty.

He slipped out of the bathroom and started down the corridor, but stopped when he heard the sound of the front door slam and the sound of voices on the stairs. Moving fast, he ducked into a room and shut the door. It was dark, but he saw two beds, two dressers, two nightstands, and posters on the walls. He spotted a closet with a folding door, and went to it, ducking inside and closing the door just as someone entered.

-2-

Lori pushed the door open, and Bobby fell back, nearly taking her with him.

"Someone's ready," Bobby laughed.

Lori closed the door with her foot and put her arms around his neck. "I'm _always_ ready."

Bobby nodded. It was true. Lori was a virgin their first time, three weeks before. It was Bobby's experience that virgin's took a while to get into the swing of things. Not Lori Loud. Oh no. He tapped into a sexual monster. She wanted it _all the time_ now. In the car, on the floor, in the shower. Bobby didn't mind, even if he was starting to get a little chafed down there.

"Are you?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

He shrugged. "I could go for some."

"Good," she said, and pushed him backwards onto Leni's bed. She mounted him and tore her shirt off, tossing it casually aside. Her breasts were pert and full, her nipples a light pink and stiff. Bobby smiled and licked his lips.

"You have a condom?" she asked.

Bobby thought for a moment, and realized that he didn't. "No."

Lori bowed her head and sighed. "Well...if you're _really_ careful, I guess we don't need one."

Jason watched through the slats in the closet door as the girl kicked out of her shorts, and helped the boy pull his pants down. His grip on the machete tightened.

The girl settled herself onto the boy, and let out a long moan. "You feel so good," she purred.

"God, so do you," the boy gasped.

Pinning the boy's shoulders to the bed, the girl began to grind her hips. The smell reached Jason's nose, a damp, musky odor, and he began to shake with rage.

"Ummm," the girl sighed, "whose is it, Bobby?"

"It's yours."

"Whose is it?"

"Yours."

"What's my name, Bobby?"

The girl slapped him.

"God, it's Lori!"

The girl increased her speed. The bed was shaking and beginning to squeak. Jason could stand it no longer. He crashed through the closet door and raised the machete. The girl turned to him, her eyes and mouth going wide with surprise, but before she could make a sound, the blade smashed into her head, severing it above the jaw. It flew through the air and hit the wall with a wet smack before falling to the carpet. Blood gushed from the girl's ruined neck/jaw.

The boy let out a small noise of horror, but Jason silenced him, turning around and cleaving his head in two. One half fell off the bed and hit the floor. The other half landed on the pillow. The girl's body, her hands clawing at her neck as though she were still alive and in terror, pitched forward and landed on top of the boy. Jason stood over the scene, heaving. He threw the machete aside, rolled the girl off of the boy, and plunged his hands deep into his guts. They were warm and slippery.

Later, when Jason was done, he left the room and went downstairs, not caring if he met anyone.

He didn't.

He needed a dark place to collect himself, to decompress. The pantry off the kitchen was perfect. Save for jars and cans and boxes of food, he was alone. He sat, drew his knees up, and fell asleep.


	10. Afternoon

Lincoln Loud was just starting to lose himself in a comic when the door opened and Lola barged in.

"Have you seen Lana?" she asked exasperatedly.

"No," Lincoln said, sitting up. "Why?"

"We were supposed to play Tonka trucks when she was done in the bathroom, but she's not in there and she's nowhere."

"I don't know," Lincoln said, then, on a hunch: "Were you guys arguing?"

Lola sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Kind of."

Lola and Lana argued a lot, but out of all the siblings, they were the closest. That didn't make their fights any less intense, but it did lead to quicker resolutions.

"Maybe she was upset and she went somewhere to clear of head."

"Maybe," Lola allowed. "I guess I _was_ being kind of mean. She played tea party with me for an hour without complaining." She let out a deep sigh. "I feel bad now."

"That's okay," Lincoln said, "it happens. Do you want me to help you look for her?"

"No," she said, standing, "it's my mess. It's up to me to fix it."

Lola left, closing the door behind her, and Lincoln tried to get back into his comic but couldn't. It bothered him when his sisters argued. He loved his family dearly, and was secretly terrified of watching it fracture. He rarely had nightmares, but when he did, they usually involved everyone being mad at each other, and nothing could fix it.

Finally, he tossed the comic aside and got up. He agreed that it should be left up to Lola and Lana to patch things up, but he couldn't just lay here. Maybe he could find Lana himself and prepare the way, so to speak. There were a couple places she went when she was upset. He'd check those.

Downstairs, mom was on the phone and dad was starting to get dinner ready. Lincoln realized he was hungry, and went to the pantry to get a snack. He laid his hand on the knob, but dad stopped him.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"Getting a snack."

"Dinner will be ready in an hour," dad said.

Lincoln sighed. "Alright."

Outside, the sun was growing weak. In another hour or so, it would be dusk.

-2-

In a few short hours, William Howell had grown to hate Frederick Teal. It started with Teal claiming command over the whole operation and pushing Howell into a support role. That Howell could forgive. It was the way Teal was treating the men and civilians. He was a screaming, shaking tyrant. "Do this!" "Do that!" "Are you braindead?" "You moron!"

At noon, elements of the Michigan National Guard arrived in town. Teal directed them to patrol the streets for anything "suspicious," telling them only that they were looking for a big man in a hockey mask. If they found him, they were not to engage him, but were to radio command HQ, which had sprung up along Route 9 south of town. Armed soldiers patrolling an America street, along with the roadblocks, increased police presence, and the many regular army troops, inevitably attracted the attention of the media. A news van from the local ABC affiliate arrived at HQ, and Howell watched in astonishment as Teal ordered them arrested, then personally destroyed their cameras. After that, Teal, Howell, and a guard detail drove to the TV station in town. Teal demanded to speak with the station manager, and made it very clear that if one word "I don't approve" leaked out of the station, he would have everyone "arrested, tried, and shot." By 2 in the afternoon, the local media was reporting that military officials in town after the previous night's crash were assisting local law enforcement officials in the search for a deranged killer who had escaped from a mental hospital. It was a flimsy story, but worked.

Presently, they were at HQ, Teal going over a topographical map of the region and talking to platoon captains via radio. No one had found the least sign of Jason Voorhees, and Teal was getting angry.

"And that bitch with her flowers," Teal growled. "Who the hell does she think she is? Those flowers are on American soil and _I_ own America. Not that fat cunt. I want that family exterminated."

"Don't you think that's a little extreme?" Howell asked, his stomach turning.

"No, I don't," Teal said. "They've been a thorn in our side since minute fucking one. After we find Voorhees and all this dies down, I'm having them killed."

Howell walked away in disgust. When he was alone, he got in touch with the DoD, and was told exactly what he knew he would be: Defer to Teal. He's in command.

Of course.

What could he do? His hands were tied.

 _Something,_ he told himself. He joined to protect American citizens, not to kill them like the goddamn Gestapo.

 _Where are you, Voorhees? This is_ your _fault._


	11. Rampage

Lincoln checked all of the places Lana went when she was upset, but didn't find her. Beginning to worry, he hopped on his bike and rode around the neighborhood. Though there were many kids out playing, none of them were Lana.

When he returned home, the sun had set, and the sky was a fiery orange smear tinged with cool purple. He parked by the garage and went in the back door. Luan was sitting at the kitchen table going over a sheet of paper (new jokes, probably) while, across from her, Lucy read. In the living room, Luna was on the couch watching VH1 and Lisa was fiddling around with a bunch of test tubes. Lynn tossed a tennis ball against the wall and jumped to catch it before it smashed into anything. As he entered, mom appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a worried expression on her face. "Has anyone seen Lana?"

"No," Lynn said, "not in a while."

"Me either," Luna said.

"Nor have I," Lisa piped in.

"I was looking for her," Lincoln. "She's still missing?"

Without replying, mom went into the kitchen, and appeared a moment later. "I'm going to drive around and look for her." She scooped Lilly off the floor. "Lucy, Lisa, and Lola, come with me."

"What about me?" Lincoln asked.

"Stay here in case she comes back."

Mom and the younger girls left. Lincoln watched through the front window as they piled into the van and pulled out.

"Come on, guys," Lincoln said, "family meeting."

In the kitchen, he, Luna, Luan, and Lynn sat at the kitchen table. "Alright," Lincoln said, "Lana's been missing for a couple hours now. No one's seen her?"

Everyone shook their heads. "The last time I saw her she was outside," Luan said.

"The last time _I_ saw her was when we came in," Lynn added.

Lincoln sighed. He was starting to get scared. "Alright, we have to search this house from top to bottom."

Dad came into the kitchen from the garage, a flashlight in his hand. "I'll check outside."

"I already did," Lincoln said.

"Well, I'll do it again."

He went out the back door and closed it behind him.

"Lynn and I will start on the second floor," Lincoln said. "Luan, you and Luna check the first floor and the basement."

"Right," Luna said.

They split up then, Lincoln and Lynn climbing up the stairs. Lincoln started in his room while Lynn started in hers. He checked under the bed, under his desk, and even in the vents. Nothing. He moved to Luan and Luna's room and did the same. Still nothing. He was just coming into the hall when Lynn tried Lori and Leni's room. The knob wouldn't turn.

"It's locked," she said.

Lincoln came over and tried the handle himself. It wouldn't turn. Lori and Leni never locked their door. Lana _had_ to be in there.

Lincoln knocked. "Lana? Are you in there?"

No reply.

"We're going to have to knock it down," Lincoln said. "She might be hurt."

Lynn held up her hand. "Let me."

She reared back her foot and kicked close to the knob. The door popped open and slammed against the wall. Lincoln went in and snapped on the light. "Lana...?"

What he saw stopped him.

A naked, headless body was propped up on the blood-soaked bed, its arms bent and broken. Another body, this one also missing its head, lie across the foot of the bed, its chest cavity open. Nasua washed over Lincoln, and he turned away. Lynn saw, and gasped.

"That's...that's Lori!"

Lincoln knew, but hearing it spoken aloud pushed him over the edge. He ran into the bathroom and threw up in the toilet, unthinkingly grabbing the shower curtain and pulling it down. A stream of hot bile shot from his mouth. His knees shook.

"Lincoln!" Lynn screamed.

Lincoln looked up. Lana was hanging from the showerhead, the nozzle hooked through one of her overall straps. Her head was broken and bloody. Her eyes were open and bulging in terror.

Lincoln puked again, his tiny frame shaking. Lynn was sobbing.

"We have to call somebody..." she said through her tears. "The cops...an ambulance..."

Lincoln got shakily to his knees. Tears were starting to stream down his face. "The soldiers," he said, "we have to get Luan and Luna and get to the soldiers."

In the basement, Luna checked under the stairs and under a work bench while Luan checked by the hot water heater.

"I don't see anything," Luan said.

At the furnace, Luna stopped. "Neither do I."

"What about in there?"

"The furnace?"

"Why not? She could fit."

Luna shrugged and opened the door. Her body went rigid and she screamed.

"What?" Luan asked, rushing over. When she saw, her heart dropped.

Leni's face stared back at them, pale and covered in blood. She was wearing her sunglasses.

"Leni!" Luna finally screamed, coming alive. She reached in to touch her sister's face, and it was cold. The movement knocked the sunglasses away, and when Luan saw the empty, bloody sockets, she puked.

"We have to get dad!" Luna yelled.

In the kitchen, they met with Lincoln and Lynn, both of whom looked as terrible as they, Luna and Luan, felt.

"Lana's dead," Lincoln blurted. "We found her in the shower."

"Lori too," Lynn stammered. "And Bobby."

"L-Leni's in the furnace," Luan said, "she's..."

The pantry door exploded open, and a giant, hulking _thing_ in a mask stepped into the kitchen. Luan screamed.

It came forward, raising a huge blade over its head, and the Loud kids scattered, Lincoln flying to the front door with Lynn hot on his heels. Luna ducked into the basement, while Luan remained frozen, unable to move.

At the front door, Lincoln pawed frantically at the knob. "Hurry!" Lynn wailed.

He got the door open, but glanced over his shoulder and saw the monster advancing on Luan, who shook and cringed where she was. Lincoln's heart rocketed into his throat. "Luan!"

The girl gave no sign that she had heard.

Cursing, Lincoln ran back into the kitchen. "Hey!"

The monster paused and looked at him.

"Yeah," Lincoln said, scarcely able to hear the sound of his voice over the pounding of his heart, "you. Come here. Ugly."

The monster shuddered, and came after him.

"Run, Luan!"

Luan came alive then, and threw herself at the back door. She clawed helplessly at the handle, her hands shaking. Why wouldn't it open?

When the door finally opened, she fled screaming into the night. The soldiers in the forest had set up a number of floodlights, and as she approached, crying for help, she saw several of them look up.

When, from nowhere, one grabbed her by her arms, she screamed and broke down.

"What's the matter?" the man barked. "Are you okay."

"T-There's a man in my house...he killed my sisters."

The soldier froze. "A man? What does he look like?"

"I-I don't know. He's big and he has a mask."

"Holy shit," the soldier said, "it's him. Call General Teal. We got him!"

-2-

Lincoln backed slowly into the living room as the monster followed. The creature moved with the slow deliberation of an animal advancing on trapped and frightened prey. "Come on, Lincoln!" Lynn yelled from the porch.

Luan fought with the backdoor. Come on, Lincoln thought, come on.

When she got it open and disappeared, Lincoln turned and bolted, Lynn running ahead of him. When he looked back, he saw the monster coming out of the house, not running, not even walking, but strolling.

-3-

Jason paused on the front step. The boy and girl cut across the front lawn and ran up the street, screaming as they went. He shook with rage. They always ran. And he always caught them.

He took a step forward, but the sound of a voice stopped him. "Freeze, asshole!"

He turned slowly and was met with the sight of a dozen men in camouflage advancing through the living room, their rifles trained on him. Soldiers. Just like the ones who had taken him away from his home.

Jason hated soldiers.

"Don't move," one of them growled. He came forward, and Jason chucked the machete at him like a spear. It pierced his stomach. A look of agony crossed his face. He depressed the trigger, and a burst of gunfire sounded, the bullets missing Jason and hitting the wall.

The others opened up then. Bullets struck Jason's chest, legs, and face, tearing away bits of rotted flesh, Jason flinched and jerked, but felt no pain, only anger, rising, growing. Moving forward, he snatched a rifle from one of the soldiers and hit him with it so hard that his head shattered. The others screamed and started to flee. Jason grabbed one by the back of his shirt and flung him into the wall. It cracked. Framed pictures fell to the carpet and broke. He snatched another by his arm and yanked. The limb came off with a sickening pop, and the man screamed, dancing back, a jet of blood shooting from his ragged stump. Jason swung the arm, and it connected with his head. The crack was satisfying.

The others were running through the kitchen and out the back door. Jason followed, grabbing his machete from the chest of the first fallen soldier. At the back door, he paused. Soldiers were crouched behind various obstacles, some advancing in a crouch. Someone yelled when they saw him, and they all opened fire. Bullets smashed into the side of the house, shattered windows, and sank into Jason's cold, dead body. A burst struck his mask, and it broke into a million little pieces, revealing his skeletal face: Wide, boring eye-sockets; lipless mouth pulled back over crooked teeth; sunken cheeks.

Though he jerked and shook, Jason advanced.


	12. Fire

William Howell was sitting in the command center and thinking about regisning his position when an excited voice crackled from the radio. "We got him! We got him!"

Teal, who had been drinking a cup of coffee, jerked, spilling a measure of the liquid on his lap. He tossed the cup aside and snatched up the handset. "Where?"

"1216 Franklin Ave!"

Howell consulted his clipboard. That was the Loud house.

"We're coming!"

Teal threw down the handset. "I knew I didn't like those people," he said of the Louds. He got up, snatched his hat from the desk, and put it on. "Come on!" he yelled. "Move out!"

Howell climbed into the car with Teal. "1216 Franklin," Teal told the driver.

"We got him," Teal said as they rolled out. Behind them a caravan of Humvees, jeeps, trucks, and even an armored personnel carrier fell into line. "We fucking got him!"

Howell's stomach turned. He remembered all of the things he'd read in Voorhees' file. If they were lucky, they were in for a bloodbath. If they weren't, it'd be Armageddon.

In five minutes, they were on Franklin Ave. Cops cars with flashing lights rocketed onto the street from Main and Chestnut. "Up a..." Teal started, but stopped when a bright flash filled the night. Moments later, a rumble shook the ground. Flames shot up into the sky.

"What the hell?" Teal asked.

Suddenly, a hulking monster stepped into the street, flames racing along its arms and shoulders.

"Stop!" Teal cried.

The driver hit the brakes, and the car came to a jerking stop. Teal threw open the door and got out. Howell followed, his knees shaking. Behind him, two dozen soldiers dismounted and took up positions along the street, crouching alongside their vehicles.

"Jason Voorhees!" Teal yelled happily. He withdrew his sidearm and walked to the front of the car. "It's over. Put your hands up."

Voorhees stayed where he was, the flames engulfing him.

"You're surrounded! There's no hope!"

Voorhees took a jerking step forward. Teal raised the gun.

When he was within striking distance of the car, Voorhees lashed out with his foot, kicking the front end and actually moving the car to the left. It struck Teal and he went down with a sharp cry and a discharge of his weapon.

Howell had immense respect for the United States armed forces, but they were only human, and got scared like everyone else. Seeing this, nearly twenty men simultaneously opened fire. Bullets whizzed by Howell's head. He screamed and ducked for cover. Bullets pinged off the car, shattered the windows.

On his stomach, Howell crawled away from the vehicle and turned just as the gas tank caught, and it blew: Voorhees was thrown to the ground, and Teal, pinned down, screamed as the fire found him. The driver threw open the door and fell to the pavement, entirely engulfed. A moment later, another explosion sounded. Howell reconized this one as a grenade.

On the ground, Voorhees was still. Soon, Howell couldn't pick him out of the conflagration.


	13. Changed

The funeral was held on a Monday. Lana, Lori, and Leni were buried side-by-side in Heaven's Gate Cemetery. That night, alone in his room, Lincoln wept for the first time, his body wracked with the force of his sobs. It hadn't been real until he watched the coffins lowered into the ground. That's when it hit him: They're dead and gone forever.

The realization crushed him. The others were just as sad. Luan didn't joke anymore. Luna didn't play her guitar. Lola sat alone on her bed, holding a Tonka truck in her arms and weeping. Tempers were short. No one was happy.

Lincoln's greatest fear had come true.

His family was fractured, and it would never be the same.


	14. AfterwordPoll

I'm trying to decide which horror movie villain/events the Louds will face next. If you have any suggestions, leave a comment. I'm even open to non-horror movie suggestions (I was thinking of a send up of GoodFellas called "LoudFellas," but that's kind of dumb).


End file.
